When Cara and her husband get an invitation to an adult-only party, they welcome the break from being parents of three for a few hours. Thankfully, her parents are ready to save the day and babysit the kids. But when Cara and Jason go back to fetch the kids, they’re shocked with the change in their behavior. “Are you sure that the kids will be okay?” my husband, Jason, asked me as I went through my closet trying to find something to wear. But my husband wasn’t wrong. Our kids were a lot to deal with. They were as hyper as anything and often stood on each other’s feet, trying to outdo each other as they tried to claim our attention.
Jason and I were getting ready for our friend’s birthday party, and thankfully, it was an adult-only party. “I’m so glad that it’s an adult party, Cara,” Jason said, ironing his shirt. “We need an evening away from the little monsters. “I couldn’t have agreed more. I just wanted to stuff my face with good food that wasn’t leftovers from my children’s plates. And drink champagne. Or wine. Or beer. All three seemed good enough for me.
My in-laws had both passed away before the kids were born, and my parents lived in another state until a few months ago. “We thought that it was time to downsize the old house and move closer to you and the grandbabies,” my mother said when she first told me about the move.
So, finally, my parents were here to be the backup that Jason and I needed. “Don’t you stress, Cara,” my father would say. “Retirement is all about taking care of the grandchildren.” Our kids are wild. There’s Simon, our five-year-old and eldest; then there’s Max, at three years old; and our little Lily, who is Max’s Irish twin. They are so active that even when they were all slightly younger, I could barely find time to go to the bathroom without them getting into some kind of trouble. Just last week, I was trying to make dinner when chaos erupted in the living room.
“Lily, stop climbing on the bookshelf!” I yelled, rushing in to grab her before she could topple it over, sending herself straight onto the hardwood floors. Meanwhile, her brother, Max, was bouncing on the couch, chanting, “Boing, boing, boing!” with an energy supply that seemed endless. At least Simon was in the kitchen with me, sitting at the counter while he nibbled on a bowl of grapes. “Max, for the love of all that is holy, sit down!” I pleaded, trying to corral both of them. “Come on,” I called, rounding up the kids as I put my shoes on after changing. “It’s time to leave!”
My husband strapped the kids into the backseat, giving each one a fruit roll-up to keep them occupied on the drive to my parents’. We dropped the kids off at my parents’ place and headed to the party, excited for a few hours of adult conversation and no sticky fingers pulling at my clothes. Now, this is a party,” Jason said, kissing my cheek as he brought over two glasses of champagne.